


The only true wisdom...

by UnproblematicMe



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Elias/Jonah is a bad person, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Objectification, Rape, Sexual Violence, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Jon enters the Panopticon to confront Elias. Needless to say: Things don't go as planned.Commission for IneffableAlien, blame her! Kidding, don't blame her. I was a willing participant and she is awesome <3
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (implied)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	The only true wisdom...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IneffableAlien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/gifts).



> Please mind the tags! Seriously. The tags say noncon and I am not kidding. No dubious consent, no consent play, no consensual roleplay, just plain noncon. The story has explicit rape in it. Don’t read if this is triggering for you!

Surprisingly, the large door to the tower was not locked. Then again, what had he expected? Guards? Dogs? A huge iron chain? A padlock for a code? No, things like that no longer meant anything. Not locks kept you safe, power did.

Elias did not need doors or walls anymore.

Jon entered the Panopticon. Within the blink of an eye he found himself in a very familiar place. Shelves with forbidden books and dangerous artifacts climbed along the old walls and throughout the room, up to a high ceiling. Only a few dim lights illuminated the place and it left him wondering what lurked in the many shadows. Quickly Jon reminded himself that nothing in the artifact storage, even if it was real, could harm him anymore. He was the Archivist, with only one human being - or “being of human origin” to be precise - in this world more powerful than he was. None of the creatures or artifacts could hurt him.

Of course that was not true for… Jon looked around and froze. Behind him, where a moment ago Martin had been, was nobody, the warm and comforting weight of his hand in Jon’s gone. Had he not entered the tower? Or had he and had been teleported somewhere else?

“Martin?” he asked, the walls carrying the echo of his voice through the room. “Martin? Martin!”

In his panic Jon noticed the shift in the atmosphere too late. Before he could react, something from above grabbed him and pulled him back to the center of the room. Two unnaturally long and thick silvery tendrils of cobweb had fallen from the ceiling and were now slung around his arms and wrists, leaving him dangling helplessly a foot above the ground. The room had grown darker, only a small circle of light surrounding Jon, the rest of the room lying in shadows.

“Martin?” Jon yelled again and again and again. “Martin!”

“Mahhtin, Mahhtin!” mimicked a familiar voice. A pleasant voice, like silk and honey, and yet unwanted.

Footsteps echoed through the room, approaching in an unhurried pace and soon the slender form of a dark-haired man well-known to Jon peeled out of the shadows. He was dressed in a well-designed blue suit, some buttons of the white shirt underneath opened. Just enough elegance to appear as a man of taste and money but with the casual air of a person too important to care about what others thought: Jonah Magnus alias Richard Mendelson alias James Wright alias Elias Bouchard.

“’Elias’ will do just fine,” Elias said, reading his thoughts. “After all you’ve known me as such for a long time.”

“Where is Martin?”

“You disappoint me, Jon,” Elias sighed. “You cling to this beacon of humanity when you could throw yourself into an ocean of divinity.”

“Beacons are a _good_ thing, Elias,” Jon said.

“If the ocean is of water, not when it is of divinity.”

“Well, drowning is drowning.”

With a smirk Elias shook his head. He folded his hands behind his back and stepped towards his captive until their faces were mere inches apart. They stared at each other, Jon determined not to be intimidated. Playfully Elias tutted at him.

“You know, Jon,” he admonished. “It’s rather rude to break into a man’s house and badmouth his analogies.”

“Where. Is. Martin?” Jon demanded.

“Safe. For now.” Elias rolled his eyes, almost fondly. “Look, I get it. He’s cute. I like him, too. Even though,” he started drawing invisible circles on Jon’s chest, “I do prefer another type.”

“Don’t touch me!”

Elias chuckled.

“But what if I do?” he asked, amused. “It’s not that you could stop me. While you were busy playing white knight out there, I learnt to make use of the powers. The power of the Watcher as well as…”, Elias let a manicured finger glide along the silver tendrils holding Jon in place, “…those of his now subdued siblings.”

At his words the tendrils of the spider web slung around Jon’s wrists grew longer and with a cry of surprise the Archivist was falling to his knees. Immediately he tried scrambling to his feet, but Elias grabbed a fistful of his hair and held him down with surprising strength.

“Anyway, despite my progress I discovered that I have certain… blind spots,” Elias continued unfazed. “If an avatar actively blocks me out, I have trouble looking at what is going on in their domain. I do not like this. Rebellion, treason, it all has to be recognized early and nipped in the bud. Time to make good use of you.”

“If you think I’ll help you…”

The slap across Jon’s face came unexpected and shut him up.

“Ouch.” Elias shook his free hand. “Well, I always said you needed a weapon’s license for those cheek bones.”

He was smiling coldly. Roughly he pulled his captive’s head back, fixing him with a menacing stare.

“I wasn’t asking, Jon,” Elias hissed. “This is not a team up. This me using what I made: my Archivist, no, my Archive.”

With horror Jon saw how the chocolate brown eyes of his captor changed, an inhuman green replacing the warm dark color, finally matching the coldness of the gaze.

Jon tried pulling away but he froze as the skin on Elias’ forehead broke apart, revealing a third eye. Large, disturbing in its symmetry. The iris shone golden and the pupil was nothing but a dark hole. Against his will he felt drawn to that darkness and the secrets it promised. He let his guard down only for a moment, but that was enough for Elias. Jon felt his mind link with his captor’s. He saw the golden eye start to glow and then the world around him changed.

He was dragged over the apocalyptic wasteland he unwillingly had turned the world into. There was no denying that part of him found it fascinating to be a bodiless observer. The experience was spoiled though since Elias was ever present. He, too, had no physical appearance but Jon could feel him, clinging to him like a parasite. More than that. Because soon Jon noticed that his flight over the world was not directed by himself.

“No!” Jon growled in defiance and pushed back against Elias intrusion. The images began to waver, he felt Elias’ anger and doubled his efforts to regain control.

Gasping Jon was ripped out of the vision. His head swam and he felt nauseous. The hand in his hair was pulling hard now and Elias leant down to him.

“I think, Jon,” he whispered darkly, “it’s time I showed you your place. I made you, I paved your path, kept you and your little pet safe. And you repay all this by sabotaging me, by trying to steal away my reward. This ends now!”

The threat was spoken in Elias’ velvet voice, soft and calm to the ears, but in Jon’s mind the words echoed shrill, loud and screeching. With a wave of Elias' hand the tendrils around Jon’s wrist disappeared completely, sending the Archivist sprawling to the floor. Before he could make use of this new found freedom, a strong hand pressed down between his shoulder blades, keeping him in place. Another roughly pulled down his trousers and underpants in one swift move.

As Elias’ motives dawned on him, Jon began to struggle, but was again confronted with the impressive strength of his opponent. Easily Elias held him in place with one hand while the other exposed his ass and started circling his hole.

“No, please,” Jon breathed out, but Elias only laughed.

“’Please’? Did you remember your manners all of a sudden?” he asked coldly.

Jon heard a wet noise from behind that was not reassuring at all. Without warning a barely lubed finger was pushed into him. He cried out in pain and shock, but Elias fucked into him relentlessly, opening him up with nothing to ease the movements but a bit of saliva.

“Does it hurt, Jon?” Elias taunted him. “Simple solution: Help me observe.”

“No!”

“As you wish. I don’t mind getting a little…physical with you.”

Elias drew back. But the relief was short-lived. He draped his body over Jon’s, grabbing the Archivist’s wrists and poking his cock against Jon’s entrance. Without hesitation Elias pushed in, nothing but a tiny drop of precum easing the way. Jon’s screams echoed through the darkness along with the scraping of his shoes over the floor as he struggled and the noise of skin slapping against skin. He felt his insides tear with each vicious move and heal immediately, only for the skin to be broken again a millisecond later.

Desperately he tried to adjust somehow, but Elias gave him no chance and the pain was too excruciating to let his mind drift away. Each thrust forced an agonized sound out of him. Only when his gaze fell on the hands pinning his wrists, his cries died in his throat. From the back of Elias’ hands two golden eyes were staring at him, glowing, luring.

He did not want to help Elias. Really. But the harsh and violent movements inside him, the horrible pain and the humiliation – it was all too much. The call of Beholding promised relief, freedom of that agony. And so Jon gave in.

He reentered the realm of the Watcher, the experiences, sensations and emotions of the world overpowering those of his body. For a moment he reveled in the absence of pain, but then Elias’ presence tugged at him, urging him forward.

Elias forced him through the different domains, all of them lying before him as open books, but indeed now and then there was a dark area he could not see without effort. But with Jon’s help Elias chased those veils away and pressed into the minds of the avatars, those that were left and those that rose anew after Jon had killed their predecessors. They hunted down their thoughts and unraveled their plans. Most were simple, set on one goal that did not interfere with the Watcher’s wishes. Some though awoke Elias’ disapproval and he pressed deep into their core to eradicate them.

Jon hated this. This was even worse than killing. Here and now he was not killing, he was being used as a weapon by another. But whenever he struggled against Elias’ control, he was dragged back into the reality of the Panopticon where Elias had him pinned to the floor and was violating him brutally, snickering at his cries and futile attempts of escape.

“Your decision, Jon,” Elias told him. “On the path of the Beholding I’m only _metaphorically_ a pain in your arse.”

So in the end Jon used the escape that was offered, leaving the physical agony behind and helped Elias to cement his power in the post-apocalyptic world. He did his former boss’ dirty work and could not help sucking up all the experience and knowledge he came across. He hated admitting it, but the Archivist in him was as sated as never before.

At one domain however things did not go to Elias liking. Most of it was easy to see, there were no huge dark areas, but upon taking a closer look there were thousands if not ten thousands of tiny black spots. Elias forced him forward to read the thoughts and plans in this domain, but Jon felt like he tried to disentangle hundreds of threads of yarns, each without beginning or end. Any goal he was able to reveal was just part of a greater scheme and when he chased it, it escaped by parting into several possible outcomes. It started to hurt, almost rivaling the pain of the rape on another plane. He did not know how long Elias tried to solve the puzzles in front of them, but when he finally decided to let it be, Jon’s mind was bursting. If reading a statement was having a snack, this was eating a buffet for 200 people on his own.

Suddenly he was back in the tower. He was in control of his mind again and for once it was not hard for him to let go of some new knowledge. Elias was coming with a grunt, pushing his body flush against Jon in his climax. As he pulled out, patting Jon’s ass in mock tenderness, Jon felt Elias’ semen leak out of him, all the disgust and pain returning at once, almost overcoming him.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Elias said, redressing himself while the webs returned to tangle around Jon’s wrists again. “I’ll make use of you again soon. Don’t feel bad about the Web. It’s hard to know or _Know_ what the Spider wants.”

He walked away and disappeared into the shadows. When he was gone, the lights went back on. It was only the dim grey half-light of the artifact storage, but Jon welcomed every ounce of not-darkness.

Everything hurt. His head, his ass and his inner Eye, his connection to the Watcher. There was still cum leaking out of him and with his pants still pooling around his ankles he began to feel cold. But he forbid himself any self-pity for now. He needed to free himself, find Martin and get out of here.

Right then there was movement in the spider web around his arms. Its grip loosened and slowly it unraveled itself, letting go off Jon. His skin was red and sore where it had grabbed him, but he was free. The two tendrils withdrew towards the ceiling, but before they disappeared a shiny item fell out of the silver-white weaves. Astonishingly silent it landed on the floor. Flinching in pain, Jon scrambled to his feet, pulled up his pants and went to examine the object.

He picked up a key and Knew immediately that it would fit into the large door leading out of the storage room.

That did not solve all his problems of course. He was still shaken emotionally and the echo of pain in his healed wounds reminded him of every unwanted touch. The key was a start though. But why had the tendrils let him go and provided him with it?

Jon sighed.

 _It’s hard to Know what the Spider wants,_ he thought and unlocked the door.


End file.
